Hubris
by Mariposa Indigo
Summary: A Midsummer Night's Tragedy. The broken man who was once Demetrius tells a story endlessly, to anyone who will listen...


_Author's Notes: Hubris, of course, is the deadly pride that is sometimes the major flaw, sometimes just the driving force, of every tragic hero. Not that Demetrius is a tragic hero, he doesn't have many of the requirements. But it's his pride and temper that makes so many people hate the way he treats Helena, and what makes him so fascinating a character to me.  
This is A Midsummer Night's Dream as a tragedy, and what happens is horribly predictable. But nonetheless cool, I hope. ^_^ It tries answers a question I still have, as much as I love the play: why would both Demetrius and Eugeus allow the law of Athens to threaten Hermia's life? Even in passion or lust mistaken for love, how could Demetrius hurt someone he so deeply feels for...and how could a father threaten his daughter, when Lysander is in terms of benefits the equal to Demetrius?  
You'll note I don't mention most names in the story until later, sorry if it gets confusing. It felt right to do it that way as I was writing. R/R, please! And enjoy! Sorry for my thesis-like ramblings, I'm pretending I'm brilliant or original or something. ;P_  


  
Hubris  


  
...I never intended to do it, you see.  
How could I? I am passionate, yes, often fearfully angry, but not even I am capable of that. By the gods, the law was outdated! Even those sworn to uphold it were against it, but it had come up all too rarely in the course of Athens' years to warrant further inspection. The Duke was about to be married, after all. He was a busy man. And frankly, so was I.  
And gods, she was so beautiful...I could live a thousand lifetimes and never see faces as beautiful as hers. Eyes that turned my heart from a woman who had me fully, who I had captured to be mine with her full consent and utmost joy. Hair that softened my distemper, bid me to stroke it and comfort her when she was sickened with grief. Skin of softness, sweetness, unblemished and unmarked by any ravage of existance...  
A heart that reguarded me with most bitter hate, that turned in adoration towards her own desire, and reached for him with trembling hands. He sickened me, _they_ sickened me. Their devotion mocked me, showed me scorn without even turning in my direction. I believed nothing of such an earth-shattering love, a love that seemed to cause tempests and quench any thirst. How could I, when my own heart could be turned in an instant?   
But my passions run deep. I'd have killed the man with my own hands, if I could.  
  
The Duke took her father and I aside that day, leaving the lovers to one of their last quiet moments alone. I could see the almost pleading look in his eyes as he spoke to us, to me in particular, the old man be damned. His instructions on the nature of the law were filled with half-implications, 'if you choose's and 'by your leave's. The alternatives were hardly numerous, but with a young woman's very breath at stake, they were worth more than the stars. I wanted none of them.   
I knew women, I thought. Women could be turned before long. It never took much, although it seemed like it would take heaven and earth; just a few gifts, or love songs, or a pretty word. A little time, and they would become crystals adorned with flowers, and love would shine in their eyes as though it was always there. She had spat on me, and in the course of time she would desire me, feel a burn for me even greater than mine for her, if I had anything to say about the matter.  
And her father...well, it's not as though I cared at the time. But her father had a will as iron as mine, and in that way we understood each other. I didn't know why I had won him so easily, why he was willing to put his daughter to such risks. It didn't matter; it suited my purposes, and so I required nothing more of him.  
  
The lovers could have escaped that very night, before guards could be posted and the young couple could be watched, but they had nowhere to go. An aunt of the boy had lived outside of Athens, but she had passed away a mere year before. They could have dashed off into the woods, of course, but where would they have hidden? They'd have wandered until they were killed or starved, neither of which I wanted for my bride to be, or that they would want for themselves. By morning, they still remained, and I knew I had her.  
For days, she was pressed, by her father primarily and next by the Duke. It was life as a nun, or death. Without fail, her true love was to be taken from her; why not keep her life, her potential, by choosing another? The questions and pleas were relentless, and I gave her no help. She avoided me purposely, but on the few chance times that we did cross paths, the look of desire and promise I gave her was matched, if not overpowered, by her glare of hatred.  
Why did I not relent? I have been asked that a thousand times; I was asked it then, far more than once. It would have been a marriage of bitterness, of spite, loveless and frigid. Before long, even I saw that if I gave her the world, she would still love him.   
But if I had seen her too long in the arms of another, seen her eyes turned to another direction, felt her heart pulled to a man who, as he himself said, was 'as well derived, as well posessed' as I was. I was his equal-no, he had been wrong, because I was his *superior*! And his woman would be mine, because I wanted her, and because I deserved her. I would not see her love another for the rest of my days. I would rather, I thought, wish death on them both.  
  
It was the night before her descision, and that night, a maiden I once knew well came to me.   
Always a rather shameful, immodest creature. She had snuck from her room, it seemed; she was in her nightclothes, and her hair was as untamed and wild as her eyes. An ancient ability, I could still read her moods, and in her gaze was a half-passion, half-panic improper for a virgin girl.   
She was tall enough to meet my eyes. Once, that had meant strength to me. It had shown her to be my equal. I decided, then, that I hated the simple detail of her height more than ever.   
"Demetrius." Her voice matched the look in her eyes; it still was breathy with heavy running and, perhaps, desire. It was desperate, almost hauntingly so.  
I glared at the willful creature before me, who I had seen so little of lately, but who had made her presence known many a time before. I was not sure which of us was more of a laughingstock by her chasing me up and down the streets of Athens. And I loathed the sight of her.  
"Demetrius," she said again, her voice wavering and pathetic, on the edge of tears.  
"What do you want, you ridiculous-"  
"I beg you!" She gripped my arm, a touch firm yet soft, in determination. She stepped closer; her nearness startled me, as did the sudden spark passing between us. I had loved her once, in all my folly, loved her with every inch of my soul, thus winning hers. What had happened, that I so despised her now?   
"Beg me what, wench? If this is about me taking you back-"  
"I'll give you anything! Just spare Hermia! She's my best friend, Demetrius, and for all I've been jealous of her, I love her. Anything you could ever desire, just pretend you don't want her anymore, don't let her die!"  
She pressed against me again, urgently, and I felt the same flicker of lightening and fire. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I'd responded differently to her pleas. But I have no magic that transports me back to change the past.  
"Anything?"  
She nodded frantically, the light of hope dawning in her eyes.   
"Then I ask of you this vow: you'll do as I've asked all along, and follow me no more. I never want to see you again, Helena, not until our bones are in the earth. And if I have a choice, our spirits will never meet either. And I swear then that I will not let Hermia die."  
And in her eyes, I could see a shattering heart, as she nodded her agreement.  
  
After she'd left, I'd laughed. There was no danger for Hermia; there never was. I had promised only to give her life, and in this was a promise I needed nothing to keep. My beloved, my betrothed, was intelligent woman enough to opt for convent life, should she not want me. Death would never be a danger.  
But new developments awaited the dawn. It seemed that desperate measures are not beyond two people in love. There was nowhere to go, but the pair had still tried to leave...and been caught at the gate.   
And no matter what Hermia's descision would be, her beloved, her Lysander, had broken one too many laws. And he was now sentanced to death.  
  
That day is one I will live for the rest of my life.  
The Duke had recieved us, when he first laid this descision on Hermia, in the same room where he now awaited her descision. His queen-to-be was with him, watching the proceedings. My love and her father, of course. Her own lost lover, sentanced to death, watching her descision before he was taken to his grave. The hellcat who had come to me the night before, Helena, still stealing glances at me for all her concern and then turning away before she thought I'd noticed.   
Theseus was asking her father if he had changed his mind.   
"No, your Grace."   
As Eugeus spoke those words, Hermia's downcast eyes lifted. They travelled to the boy, his gaze fixed on her and rapt with adoration, across the room. Their eyes met. Suddenly, she did not seem so afraid.  
Something was wrong. The realization touched the back of my mind, but it did not fully register its weight. The old man was muttering something under his breath, that I couldn't make out, and Helena's gaze bore into me with all the pain and desperation she'd ever contained.   
The Duke turned to me now, the last chance before it was all in her hands. He asked the same question, all the implication in his words ringing forth: the promise I had made, the love I supposedly felt, the life of solitude I sent her to when she would choose the nunnery. A life without a boy who was to be run through and bleeding, her one and only love sent to the Underworld without a thought.   
And damnit, I thought, with all the thoughts of unshakable plans that could ever strike a headstrong youth: Hermia would live, and that promise would be kept, and damn it all if she was miserable. Perhaps in some other universe, I would come to see their wedding day, and thus suffer alone forever. But not now, not this Demetrius, not if he had anything to say.  
"I've not changed my mind, my Leige. Let's hear her descision."  
At these words, I let my eyes drift to my midnight visitor, whos eyes I had felt as I'd said those words. She looked like someone had stabbed her, yet part of her also coiled with a fiery indignance. I snuffed her opinions out of my mind, one less thing to contend with. Let the hellcat feel what she liked.  
"And she was so beautiful..."  
I gazed at her father for a brief moment, old Eugeus, stern and stone and unbending. He was about to leave his daughter to solitude forever, and he was unmoved, only muttering nonsense under his breath.  
"Hermia?" the Duke was asking.  
"So beautiful, and she wouldn't have me...and he..."  
That smile, that exchange of gaze...there was something familiar about it. Something that reminded me of the night before. Of two pairs of eyes that met. That knew each other, that, as much as I cared to deny it, had always understood each other perfectly...  
Something was WRONG.  
"And he changed his damned mind...he let her have the bastard, he changed his damned mind!..."   
Even in a whisper, I could hear the passion of the old man. And then my blood ran cold, as I understood. Old Eugeus was given a fate that might have been mine, once. And he had gone mad. And in that madness, he understood his daughter, and what would come next, better than all of us.  
She inhaled deeply, as if to gather strength. There he was, her precious Lysander, across the room giving her that very strength with his eyes, with the tiny nod and a relief far too great for the situation...  
And then I understood the look that had passed between them.  
There was a flash of silver. Afterwards, nobody knew where she had found the means. Perhaps Lysander gave it to her that night, just in case. Just in case...  
And then I, like the old man half-crazed, understood EVERYTHING.   
"Hermia?" Theseus was asking.  
"Hermia..." Helena murmured, and I wonder to this day if she knew, too. If, perhaps, everyone had seen it except for me.  
"Hermia!" I called out, and I was surprised by my own voice. For the first time, I heard fear in my words, fear beyond any I'd ever known. "Hermia, NO!"  
There was only an instant that I hestitated. Just an instant, and then I was ready to take it all back, ready to give her the husband she wanted and the world at her feet. Ready to admit every wrong that had ever been done through me, as I would have done at the first moment, had I known what love really was. A single instant was all it took to shatter years of pride.   
And that instant was all it took for her to bring the knife down.  
  
I never saw Helena after that. I suppose she kept her promise where I couldn't. She told one last thing before she left forever.   
"I will always love you, Demetrius. And my hate for you will outlive even that."   
Helena, a woman weaker and yet stronger than even she knew. The most painful thing yet is the fact that I've always loved her. And that, in knowing her like I knew my own soul, I saw hate as true as any love in her gaze that day.  
In the end, Hermia would rather have died by her own hand, with love in her eyes, than by the blades of soldiers with her love marked a sin. Eugeus passed on a few weeks later, some say from grief, but maybe by his old demons put to rest.  
Hippolyta never married Theseus, could never marry someone who'd allowed this to happen. She killed him as he prepared for his wedding that night, knocked out and wounded some guards, and eventually escaped Athens. Perhaps she started a new band of Amazons, but in the end, no matter what the case, she bowed her head for no one.   
Sometimes, as I loiter here and ramble my story for hours on end, a few common workers come and watch me speak. They were supposed to perform at the wedding ceremony that night; one of them, in particular, deeply regrets having never been on stage like he'd always dreamed. He's a loveable sort of ass. I guess one event sets off many others, in the end, and now his hopes are shattered, too.  
The weather changes rapidly these days. There are floods and dry spells and even the occasional earthquake or flash fire. Fate has a sick sense of humor, because I always survive them. It's almost as if some supernatural force is battling with itself, but it's probably a stupid fight anyway. About love, posession, pride, or maybe even all three. A ridiculous, petty battle. But what can really put a battle like that to rest?  
My pride? It was broken that day. You can't leave so many lives in the dust without hating yourself forever...  
  
I didn't mean to do it, you see.   
How could I? I am passionate, yes, often fearfully angry, but not even I am capable of that...  
  


-fin-  


  
  
  



End file.
